"My only brother, the late Sir Hedworth Athelstone, was the father of
the present Sir Anthony, and of two daughters. The eldest, Louisa,
was the mother of Louis de Montemar; and the youngest, Catherine, you
have seen in Mrs. Coningsby. My brother's wife died the same year
in which her husband received the commands of his sovereign to go
embassador-extraordinary to the Netherlands. Louisa's health having
been impaired by attendance on her mother, Sir Hedworth made her the
companion of his embassy. At the Hague they met the Baron de Ripperda.
He was struck with my niece at first sight. And indeed she was the most
beautiful creature these eyes ever beheld!--My Lord, you will see
a manly copy of this angelic being, in her not unworthy son. Before
she went abroad, she had refused the hands of some of the first men
in England; for her accomplishments and her virtues were equal to her
beauty. My brother had always left her to her own choice. He admired
the Baron de Ripperda; and when she granted him permission to address
her, Sir Hedworth sanctioned her acquiescence with pride and joy. I
think I can recollect the very words he wrote to me on the day of her
nuptials. I have often repeated them, though not lately;--yet I will
recall them."
The venerable man leaned back in his chair, and shutting his eyes in
silent recollection, in a few minutes repeated these words of the
letter.
"_Congratulate me, my brother!_" said he, "_This morning I have
bestowed the hand of our darling Louisa upon William de Montemar Baron
de Ripperda. I need not enlarge in his praise: I have named the Baron
de Ripperda; and in that name all human excellence is comprised. My
full heart, overflowing with happiness, has but one wish ungratified.
Richard, am I ungrateful to the Giver of all good? But my tears are
now falling, that I enjoy it without the participation of her beloved
mother. Oh, that she had lived to see this blissful day!_"
The pious narrator paused a moment, drew his hand over his eyes; and
then resumed his story in his usual manner.--
"Thus did my brother write, in the exultation of his heart. And every
succeeding letter contained similar intelligence of Louisa's happiness;
of the high-minded patriotism of her husband; of the honour in which he
was held by the States; and of the anxious joy which agitated them all,
in the prospect of an heir to this treasure of felicity. Think then, my
dear Marquis, what were the feelings with which I read a long-expected
letter from the Hague! I had impatiently awaited what seemed so
strangely withheld. It was to tell me of the birth of the anticipated
blessing. The letter came, sealed with black.--An heir had been born,
according to hope, but the mother was no more.--Louisa's delicate frame
had perished in the trial of that dreadful period. She lingered three
weeks after the morning of her child's birth, and then died in the arms
of her husband and of her father. Next day the afflicted parent wrote
to me. How differently did this letter conclude from the one in which
he announced her marriage!"
Again the Pastor leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes; but
he also pressed them down with his hand, as he proceeded to quote his
brother's words.--
"_I come to you, Richard, with all that remains to me of my too
precious Louisa.--So young, so beautiful, so beloved!--Ripperda has
resigned her infant to my care. When he consented to my earnest
supplication, he pressed the poor unconscious babe to his weeping face,
and then putting him into my arms:--Take him, Sir Hedworth! (cried he)
What compensation is too dear to the father of my lost Louisa? He then
rushed from the room, and I have not seen him since. I thank my God,
her mother is spared this last blow, which has laid my grey hairs in
the dust._"
As Mr. Athelstone closed these remembrances, with a silent address to
the Being in whose peace now rested the parent with his child; the
Marquis wiped the starting tears from his eyes,--a pause of a few
minutes ensued; and then the good man, turning with a serene aspect to
his auditor, resumed.--
"My brother returned to Bamborough-Castle. He found me there, with
his sole-remaining daughter. Early in the succeeding year, Catherine
gave her hand to Mr. Coningsby. Not to leave my brother quite
alone, I henceforth continued to divide my time between the exercise
of my parochial duties, and assisting him in the delightful task of
unfolding the mental faculties of my infant nephew. But the drooping
spirits of Sir Hedworth were daily depressed by cares more heavy to
be borne than anxiety for the sick, or sorrow for the dead. Almost
every post brought him accounts of his son's follies at college, or in
town; and few were the weeks which past without calling on his purse
for some disbursement to redeem the pledged honour of this unthinking
young man. Mr. Coningsby died the sixth year after his marriage; and
not leaving a son, his entailed property went to the male heir; but
his daughters have, nevertheless, very noble fortunes. Sir Hedworth
and myself were constituted their guardians; and as the best means
of rendering them protection, my brother invited their mother from
the dismal associations of a jointure-house, to her former home. Poor
Catherine gladly obeyed the paternal voice:--and time went smoothly
over our heads, till the day on which Louis de Montemar attained his
tenth year. It was always a sacred anniversary with my brother; and on
that evening, while kneeling in his closet, he was called to a blessed
re-union with her he had so long mourned.
"My nephew Anthony hurried from London to take possession of his
inheritance. He expressed satisfaction at finding his uncle and his
young nephew in the Castle; and requested his sister to honour his
table by keeping her place at its head. Notwithstanding the happy
promise of this conduct, (for Sir Anthony is kind and liberal to
objects in his sight;) we soon found that Bamborough, under its new
master, was not a fit residence for Mrs. Coningsby and her children. In
short, he was too much a man of pleasure to allow of even the common
restraints usual in a family on the recent loss of its head. Whilst
the hatchment was yet over the door, the Castle continued to overflow
with visitors of the gayest order; and amongst the most conspicuous
were the dissipated Earl of Warwick, and the no less worthless Duke of
Wharton. Hunting all the morning; feasting all the day; and revelling
all the night with wine, cards, music, and dance; formed the unvarying
diary of the so lately revered Bamborough. In vain I remonstrated with
my nephew on these pursuits; on the evils of his example to the county;
and the prejudice he was doing to his fortune and his reputation. To
be rid of my arguments, he frequently admitted their reasonableness;
but they produced no amendment in his conduct. In short, the castle of
my fathers had now become a Babylon, from which I saw the necessity
of bearing away my innocent charges, while they were yet too young
to be contaminated. In right of my mother Lady Cornelia Percy,
Morewick-hall, on the Coquet, belongs to me. But as my pastoral care
was constantly required at Bamborough, or in this island, I had never
resided on my inheritance. I now wished to make it the home of my
niece, and her children, till they became of age. She gladly embraced
my proposal. And the young Louis, though the indulged-plaything of the
whole party, so far from expressing regret at leaving the castle, heard
our arrangement with joy. This may appear more than natural in a boy
hardly eleven years of age; but a little affair which took place at
that time, will make his acquiescence very credible.
"It was during the Christmas of the very year in which you met Duke
Wharton at Paris, that he made his brilliant but baneful appearance
at Bamborough. He took an immediate fancy to Louis; who was a fine
spirited boy, full of enterprize and invincible good-humour. The Duke
delighted in betting on his youthful talents, against the maturest
acquirements in the castle. He exulted in the leaps he made him take
on horseback; on the precision of his eye, in firing at a mark; and
the dexterity with which he disarmed almost every man, but himself, in
the practice of the foils. Even in this there was much to blame. But
one evening, when Sir Anthony and the Duke were wearied of the rest
of the company, and withdrawn to another room were sitting over their
wine, a sudden whim seized their own half-tipsey fancies, to send
Louis in masquerade to surprise the boisterous group below. Louis was
summoned; and, innocent of their intention, hastened to his uncle. In
the ardour of their frolic, they told him they meant to dress him in
vine branches, and priming him with wine, introduce him as the festive
god to the worship of the revellers in the dining-room. The natural
good-sense of the boy started at the proposal; and he modestly refused
to comply.--They persuaded, they flattered, they threatened; but in
vain. Both resolutely, and with tears, he declared he would not, for
his life, do any thing so wicked. Sir Anthony's passionate nature was
in a blaze at this opposition. Mad with intoxication, he threw the
helpless child on the floor, and holding him there, called on his
profligate companion to give him the Burgundy. Wharton obeyed; and
the inhuman uncle poured so great a quantity down the throat of his
struggling victim, that the poor child was taken up insensible. He was
carried to bed; and passed the remainder of the night in delirium and
fever.
"I was then on one of my occasional visits to Lindisfarne. But on my
return next day, the whole was told me by Mrs. Coningsby. Full of
horror at the relation, I gave instant orders for our departure; and
was passing along the gallery before the servants, who were supporting
the suffering child to the carriage, when I encountered my graceless
nephew. "Anthony!" cried I, in the burst of my indignation; "you have
committed an outrage against the morals and life of this innocent
child, that will cry against you at the gates of Eternal Justice!"
Sir Anthony stood confounded; but Duke Wharton, who was just at
his back, with affected solemnity, exclaimed--"It is a prophet who
speaks!--Let us take care that in to-morrow's hunt, the foxes do not
ape the bears of old, and turn upon and rend us!"--The sarcasm of the
young libertine, and his irreverent allusion to Scripture, recalled
me to a sense of my own unrestrained violence; and turning again to
my nephew with a more collected manner, "Sir Anthony, (said I) I do
not reply to your companion; having no hope that human reasoning can
make any good impression on a mind which studies revelation only to
use it to blasphemy. But for you, the son of a virtuous father, and a
pious mother!--Recall to your remembrance their happy lives, their
honourable reputations, and their blessed deaths! And, notwithstanding
all your wit, your merriment, and your splendour, your heart will
whisper, that in comparison with them, you are wretched, despised, and
now stand on the brink of everlasting perdition!" Sir Anthony remained
silent and confused; but the hardened Duke, making me a gay bow, put
his arm through the Baronet's, and with a jerk turned him into the
billiard-room.
"Eight years elapsed before I saw my ill-directed nephew again.--Having
established a truly Christian minister at Bamborough, I henceforth
passed the winter months at Morewick-hall with Mrs. Coningsby. And
how different from the society of the castle was that which visited
our residence, and assisted to develope the opening minds of our
young charges! Sir Richard Steele, Mr. Craggs, and Mr. Addison, were
severally our guests. In short, my dear sir, I drew around me a kind
of college for my pupils; and besides the persons named, many others
of humbler note, but equal merit, were our constant visitors. One half
of the year I devoted to the inspection of my curate's ministry; and
for that purpose fixed my summer residence in this island. Louis always
accompanied me to Lindisfarne; as I considered it my duty, as well
as my delight, to share with his various tutors, the anxious task of
turning to good account the rich soil of his mind. His nature is so
enquiring and ambitious, we had rather to restrain than to stimulate
his abilities; and they have ever pointed to a military career. I
tried to incline him to the calmer paths of life; but it was stemming
a torrent. His spirit is determined to excess. And having fixed his
heart on the reputation of a Nassau or a Marlborough, he directs
his studies with an undeviating aim to that point. If he begin any
language, science, or art, he pursues it steadily till he gains either
a perfect knowledge of its principles; or at least acquires as much as
his teacher can give him. He will not hear of a slight knowledge of any
thing; therefore, what he does not wish to master, he never attempts at
all. In short, his talents take the form of passions; and are not to be
exhausted by the continuance or impetuosity of their course."
From strong interest, the Marquis had hitherto forborne to interrupt
Mr. Athelstone; but he could not now help exclaiming--"Oh, Sir,
what a perilous character have you described!--How great is the
responsibility of the man who is to guide and impel this youth! Virtue
and vice contend alike for the direction of such spirits:--and you are
answerable to his father and to heaven, that these powerful impulses
should not be turned to evil!"
"I know it," replied the Pastor, devoutly bowing his head to the
Almighty Being to whom he especially owed this responsibility; "and
at present, I trust, those impulses are blameless. His heart overflows
with good-will to every created thing; and, (as he often says with a
gay smile,) he seems born with no other concern but to be happy, and to
do his best to make others as happy as himself. Dear child!" exclaimed
the old man, with glistening eyes;--"if that be his commission, he
knows he fulfils it here!--For the sound of his voice, or the tread of
his foot in the passage, is sufficient at any time to raise my head
from my severest studies; and to make his aunt and cousins start from
their chairs, to welcome their gladdening Louis!"
"And yet you trust this gay, this buoyant!--this young man, constituted
by nature, to be only too sensible to the world's allurements; you
trust him to the temptations of his uncle's roof?"
"Because," replied the Pastor, "they are no temptations to him. Setting
aside the principles with which religion fortifies his heart, his
taste is too pure not to be disgusted with the coarse jollity of Sir
Anthony's usual boon companions. These sots see nothing in their
wassal-bowl, but the wine and its spices. It is the possible visits of
Duke Wharton, and a few of his anacreontic associates, that excite my
apprehension. He drugs the cup with the wreath of genius. The wit, the
grace, the sorceries of that man, indeed fill me with alarm: and from
his society, as I would snatch a swimmer from the verge of a whirlpool,
I shall hasten to bear away my yet uncorrupted nephew."
The Marquis enquired how, with these sentiments, and after the rupture
with Sir Anthony, Mr. Athelstone had ever suffered Louis de Montemar
to touch such a vortex again.--Mr. Athelstone apologized for having
digressed so long from this most necessary part of his narrative; and
proceeded to relate the accident which re-introduced the uncle and
nephew to each other. What he succinctly related, is more particularly
given thus:
In the autumn of the preceding year, Louis obtained his guardian's
permission to accompany a neighbouring gentleman to the Red-deer hunt
at Blair Athol in Scotland. On the first day, several fine harts were
roused and slain. But just as the two Northumbrians were seating
themselves on a high wooded cliff to take some refreshment after a hot
pursuit, the forester who attended them approached, crouching on hands
and knees, and silently made a sign, pointing to the glen beneath.--On
looking where he levelled, they saw two fine stags upon a rock below,
which projected over the river Tilt. Louis immediately took aim, and
shot one of them on the edge of the precipice; the animal fell headlong
into the stream; and the victor, with his followers, hastened down the
glen to secure his prize. About the same instant, a huntsman, who had
been with the foremost all day, from an opposite direction had espied
the companion of the slain stag galloping forward in affright. He lost
not a moment, but fired, and wounded the creature in the haunches. The
disabled deer slackened his pace, and the huntsman let a hound loose
after him, who held him at bay on a high bank; but the stag recovered
courage, and broke away again.--Another dog was then unleashed, which
brought him to a stand in a deep dell, filled by the current of a
mountain-stream. This second hound ran in upon his antagonist, and
seized him between the horns. The stag gored him from shoulder to
shoulder, and alarmed for the life of his dog, the huntsman made a
spring into the water, to shoot the deer without danger to the hound.
But in his haste, the man fell, and with his gun under him. At this
moment the Northumbrians came up. Louis's companion rashly unloosed
their dogs, to assist the struggling hounds of the fallen huntsman.
The deer, the dogs, all were at once upon the prostrate man. He called
for help.--The stag's foot was on his breast:--the hounds crushed him
as they sprung forward, and hung on the furious animal. The deer's
eye-balls flashed fire; he dashed his tremendous antlers from side
to side, and seemed aiming their next plunge against the life of his
fallen enemy.
"He is a dead man!" cried the forester. But Louis drew a dirk, which
was always his companion in these excursions 5 and throwing himself
at once amidst the terrific group, struck it into the throat of the
animal.--The wounded stag instantly recoiled, carrying away the weapon
buried in his flesh. The released huntsman sprung on his legs, and
extricating himself from the dogs, which hung more fiercely on their
dying prey, staggered towards the adjacent bank. With the assistance
of his companions, Louis immediately conveyed the fainting stranger
to a neighbouring lodge, where he soon recovered his recollection and
wonted spirits.--Perhaps it need hardly be said, that this stranger was
Sir Anthony Athelstone!--Louis, being unacquainted with the alteration
in his uncle's person, which eight years of intemperance had rendered
bloated and coarse, had thus exerted himself from humanity alone.
But when Sir Anthony enquired the name of his preserver, and learnt
that he owed his life to the intrepidity of Louis de Montemar, the
joy of the uncle knew no bounds. He embraced his nephew a thousand
times; vowed never to marry, that he might adopt him as his son; nay,
he declared, that from this day forward, Louis de Montemar should be
the lord both of Bamborough and its master. Louis was affected by his
uncle's gratitude, and self-accusations for the cause of their first
separation; but respectfully declined resuming a stationary residence
at the castle, though he gratefully promised to make his visits very
frequent.
"Providence having thus reconciled the uncle and nephew," continued the
Pastor, "how could I presume to refuse my sanction to the renewal of
kindred affection?"
The Marquis assented to the force of this argument; and Mr. Athelstone
hastened to conclude his narrative, of which the following is a brief
summary.
After this general amnesty, Louis continued to visit Sir Anthony every
week. And as the watchful guardian heard of no proceedings in the
baronet likely to injure the morals of his nephew, he consented to his
accompanying his uncle early in the ensuing spring, to re-visit the
scene of their happy reconciliation. They accordingly went to Scotland.
And when they left the Duke of Athol's, Sir Anthony proposed returning
home by Loch Rannock, and paying his respects to old Robertson of
Struan. Louis was eager to see the veteran and the poet; though, from
his advanced age, he expected to find little of the lyre, and less of
the trumpet, at his hospitable board.
The visit was paid; and Louis returned to Lindisfarne in raptures with
the country he had seen; delighted with the chief of Struan; but above
all, enchanted with one of the old man's guests. He seemed intoxicated
with some before untasted pleasure, as he discoursed, full of a vague
kind of admiration, about this extraordinary personage. Mr. Athelstone
asked his name; Louis replied, it was the Duke of Wharton, whom he
remembered when a boy; and who, he recollected, had joined his uncle
in the folly about the wine. The Duke came to Loch Rannock the day
after Sir Anthony's arrival. There was a large party in the house, but
Wharton selected Louis as his companion; often deserting the rest, to
ride alone with him; and to explore with fearless step, sometimes on
horseback, but oftener on foot, the caverned recesses of the Loch;
its fir-clad islands, and mountains of desolate sublimity. During
their wide and stormy rambles, they visited the house of the laird,
and the hovel of the shepherd; pleased alike with the generous cheer
of the one, and the frugal hospitality of the other. Wharton could
speak Gaelic, a language of which his companion was totally ignorant;
but Louis did not the less enjoy the hilarity with which his noble
friend pledged their entertainers in claret or whiskey: and while a
rapid discourse passed in this, to him, unknown tongue, he did not the
less sympathise in the pleasure with which _gentle and semple_ seemed
to regard their animated guest. Men, women, of all ages and degrees,
thronged around their illustrious visitor. Sometimes he was serious,
sometimes he was gay; but still he spoke in Gaelic; and all changes
renewed their acclamations of delight.
When Louis narrated these particulars at the tea-table in Lindisfarne,
Mr. Athelstone sighed, and thought that in this fortnight's sojourn
at Rannock, his nephew had seen too much, or too little of this
extraordinary man. However, he would not risk knowing all that passed,
by any immediate observation to damp the ardour of Louis's frank
communicativeness. His cousins were eager listeners; and he went
rapturously on, describing the Duke as the most fascinating being on
earth. So profound in his reflections; so careless in his manner of
uttering them; so conscious of his fine person, and yet so gracefully
negligent of its effect; so dignified in his carriage, and yet so
boyishly fond of mirth; that the mischief he played ever found a ready
excuse, in the ingenuity of its contrivance, or the frank apology of
the laughing perpetrator.
"I would say," exclaimed Louis, "that he is the merriest devil I ever
saw, if I could give so poor a name to so rich a wit!"
"Call him Belial," said the Pastor, with a meaning smile; "and you will
name him rightly."
Louis laughed; and replied,--"If you will have him a fallen angel, he
must be Satan himself:
For such high-reaching thought, and port superb,
Could ne'er be native with the grov'ling crew
That sunk in raging Phlegethon!"
The Pastor shook his head with another smile; and Louis ran on,
talking of the Duke's lofty demeanor at one season; of its playful
condescension at another: and in the guileless exhilaration of his own
heart, described the air with which Wharton drank his Burgundy; how
he graced each draught with a brilliant song, adapted by himself to
words of Horace or Anacreon, in their original language. Then he spoke
of the Duke's eloquent criticisms on the classics; of his wit in apt
references to them, and to the best writers of France and Italy; and
of the sportive manner with which he trifled, with the foibles of the
company around him;--"seeming," continued Louis, "to stoop from his
native height, merely' to skim the grosser element, in condescending
fellowship with those heavy sons of earth. And the Duke tells me the
change is pleasant; for it is only burrowing a little amongst the
gnomes, to enjoy with keener relish the etherial joys of the upper
regions!"
"Here, my Lord," continued the Pastor, in his narrative to the Marquis,
"was the snare I had dreaded. When we were alone, I declared my
apprehensions to my nephew; but he combated my suspicions with all
the pleadings of ingenuous enthusiasm. Louis had never felt more than
general kindliness for any of the young men of his acquaintance. For, I
am sorry to say that education is not a principle of these times: and
my boy found few to understand any part of his intellectual pursuits,
till he met this highly-gifted nobleman. Wharton is also master of
every avenue to an unsuspecting heart. This, too, was the first time
that any thing like his own ideas of friendship had come before my
nephew; and when they were proffered by so specious a character, it
was hardly surprising that even the short intimacy of a fortnight
should bewilder his imagination and captivate his heart. When I became
aware of the depth of the impression, I took up the subject in the
serious light it demanded. I narrated several instances of the Duke's
ill-conduct in various relations of life; and shewed at once to Louis
the deleterious cup he was so tenaciously holding, since it had already
induced him to confound right and wrong, by denominating the ruffian
violence he had received in his helpless childhood, _mere folly and
frolic_! His countenance betrayed there was a powerful contention in
his mind. I conjured him to reflect on what I had said; to hearken to
my warning voice, as he would to that of his distant father, or to the
last admonitions of his departed mother. Tears burst from his eyes;
and kissing my hands, he solemnly pledged himself never again to be a
willing resident in the same house with the Duke of Wharton. His Grace
had separated from the travelling party, and was gone to Ireland. But
that did not prevent me calling on Sir Anthony; and though he did not
see the reasonableness of my alarm, he was prevailed on to make me a
promise that he would not again be instrumental in bringing his nephew
into the society of the Duke.
"From that period until now, this dangerous man has been too much
engaged in cajoling and thwarting the British ministry, to think of
obscurer triumphs in Northumberland. But now that he is come, and his
mischievous spirit has not only persuaded Sir Anthony to break his
honour with me, but that Louis has been wrought upon to forfeit the
verity of his word; I must assume the authority of a guardian; and at
once wrest the infatuated boy from the favour of his uncle, and the
perverting powers of his friend."
"Venerable Mr. Athelstone!" cried the Marquis, with an emotion of
reverence; "this resolution is worthy of a minister of Christ!" But
the words were no sooner uttered, than, dropping the hand he had
emphatically seized, he quitted the room in disorder.